


of love and streetcorners

by jilliancares



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dancer Keith (Voltron), Dancing, Lance sings and plays the guitar, M/M, Pining, Trans Keith (Voltron), also he has a secret but i'm not gonna tag it yet, broganes, i'll tag it when it Comes Out in the fic, keith is a tired college drop out, lance is a street performer, street performing, you might be able to guess it already though idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-14 05:49:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17502806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jilliancares/pseuds/jilliancares
Summary: Keith's monotonous day-to-day life of going to and from his tiny apartment (which feels inexplicably large with just him and his dog living in it) and a job he hates is interrupted when he comes across the most amazing street performer. He thinks he'll never see him again but is quickly proven wrong (again and again and again). Maybe this street performer — Lance — can help him rekindle his love for a long forgotten passion.





	1. i'm a lover, in need of confession

**Author's Note:**

> this chapter's title comes from the song holy ghost by børns!!
> 
> i'm excited about this new fic guys!! i wasn't really planning on posting any of it yet (,,, hence,,, the super short chapter) but i was too excited to wait!! i have no idea how long this'll end up being but i do have most of it planned out so far, so just hold on tight and come along for the ride!
> 
> ALSO: i created a spotify playlist for this fic!! they're just songs that i feel like lance would sing (and some of them will feature in future chapters asdjfkl). anyway you can find that here!

The first time Keith saw him, it was an accident. He’d had to walk past his usual entrance to the subway station due to unexplained construction, and with a quick search on Google Maps, he was on his way to the next closest one. The streets he’d walked along were familiar — not because he could explicitly remember traveling along them before, but because all streets were kind of the same when you lived in a city.

Keith had felt more than a little contempt for the day. It’d been long enough as it was, and his usual subway station being closed just felt like an added blow to the already crappy day, having begun when he’d sat down on the train only to realize he’d forgotten his headphones.

He hadn’t thought anything was likely to get rid of the glower etched on his face, and he couldn’t deny the dark kind of pleasure he’d derived from seeing other hurried citizens of New York scurrying out of his path. But then, completely unexpectedly, he felt his angry expression melt off his face as if someone had poured water over it, washing off cheap make up.

Because the sound gracing his ears was absolutely angelic, and it took Keith a few turns of his head to finally discern where it was coming from. The beautiful music was emanating from a beautiful boy, his lilting voice and masterful strumming of his guitar turning only a few heads. Keith couldn’t believe there wasn’t a crowd formed around him.

Without thinking about it, Keith found himself redirecting his steps, found himself crossing the street and coming to stand in front of the singer. His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful and almost reverent as he played, obviously more for himself than any fleeting audience. Keith was enraptured, and it was as he was staring at the man’s fingers expertly moving over the guitar’s chords that he sensed a shift in the atmosphere. Automatically, his eyes flicked upward, and he realized the guitarist was looking right at him. His eyes were half-lidded as he sang, as if he was ready at any moment to close them again and lose himself in the music, but he held eye contact with Keith. And then, most unexpectedly, he _winked_.

Keith felt a flush rise to his cheeks, unbidden.

When the man continued to sing, it felt like he was singing directly to Keith.

_“It's making my heart beat so fast_  
_In my mind, you're the angel on the painted glass_  
_Looking for high, divine, connection_  
_I'm a lover, in need of confession.”_

The man didn’t break eye contact the entire time, and his smirk just grew and grew, probably because Keith was visibly blushing. Whatever, he didn’t need to feel so flustered — he was never going to see this guy again.

Finally, Keith dug a couple dollars out of his pocket — he’d planned to use the vending machine at work earlier but had never actually gotten around to it — and tossed it into the guitar case laying open before the guitarist. The performer’s eyebrows bounced upward as he grinned and Keith managed a small smile before abruptly turning and disappearing down the street. He had a train to catch, after all, and part of him was afraid that the performer would try to strike up a conversation after finishing the song had he stayed. Considering how Keith’s tongue still felt twisted up in his mouth even now, he felt his hasty departure had been in good taste.

—

When Keith finally walked into his apartment, he felt the weight of the day lift off his shoulders. That was, until he realized he wasn’t alone. He already had his shirt halfway off by the time he reached the living room, well on his way to the shower, when someone cleared their throat. Keith shrieked, automatically yanking his shirt back down, only to find himself brandishing his knife at his own brother.

“Jesus, Keith, you still carry that everywhere?”

“For good reason!” Keith said defensively. “I mean, there’s an intruder in my home.”

“I have a key.”

“For _emergencies_ ,” Keith stressed, though he did put his knife back in its sheath. “What are you doing here?”

It’d been months since he’d seen Shiro. Keith had graduated high school and gotten the hell out of Texas, following his brother halfway across the country and riding on the high of a full-ride waiting him at NYU. The first few years of college had been pretty awesome. Still, his love for the school hadn’t been enough for him to keep attending. Not after what happened at the beginning of his junior year.

“You’ve been ignoring my calls,” Shiro pointed out. Keith didn’t try to deny it.

“You’d think if I was avoiding you, you would’ve respected my privacy and not _broken into my apartment_.”

“I care about you more than that,” Shiro said, using that voice that said, _this is my stance, and I’m not budging_. Keith had heard it many times over the years, though it’d been for less serious things when they were younger.

Keith grumbled something unsavory under his breath, which Shiro ignored.

“I got a letter for you,” Shiro said, cutting to the chase. Though Keith tried not to, he stiffened. The two of them had lived together, back when Keith was still in college. After he dropped out, Shiro had always been there for him, always trying to cheer him up, always trying to get him back on the wagon. It’d been suffocating.

That was a horrible thing to think, but Keith had still thought it. And he’d acted on it, too. He’d moved across the city and rented out a tiny apartment that was still entirely too expensive, slowly draining the savings he’d managed to rack up after both not having to pay for college and competing while he was attending.

Two years after the year he should have graduated, Keith found himself slowly climbing the ladder in the boring firm he’d managed to snag a job in, knowing that soon he’d reach a wall, one he couldn’t breach without a proper degree. Not that he really wanted to breach it anyway. Keith never would’ve wanted to do this with his life, and yet here he was.

Despite moving out in order to avoid Shiro, Keith had managed to convince himself that he was doing what was best. Otherwise, he would’ve ended up blowing up at his brother, someone who’d been doing everything in his ability to be there for Keith, and Keith wasn’t sure he’d have been able to handle that.

Nowadays, he and Shiro saw each other a couple times a year. They got together for stilted conversations and awkward company for each of their birthdays and Christmas, plus Shiro tended to reach out whenever he happened to be in the area. The last time that had happened, Shiro had taken him out to dinner in order to tell him that he and Adam were engaged. Keith hadn’t even realized they were still dating.

Despite the distance Keith had built between them, and the resentment he felt towards himself whenever he let himself really think about it, he knew Shiro still loved him. Shiro was entirely too forgiving for his own good, and Keith knew that if one day he reached out, Shiro would be right there meeting him halfway. He knew they could fall right back into their old dynamic if he just let them, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

And Keith was quickly remembering why.

“Cool,” Keith finally said, trying to force the word out of his mouth in a semblance of a normal tone. “Did you bring it?”

“I opened it,” Shiro admitted.

“You know that’s illegal, right?” Keith said, his head snapping up so his gaze could pierce through Shiro instead of his own shoes.

“You gonna report me, Keith?”

Keith just rolled his eyes, letting his arms cross familiarly over his chest as he glared across the room. Across all that distance. “Are you planning on giving it to me or not?” he finally snapped.

“I feel like if I do, you’d rip it up.”

Keith silently cursed Shiro. Even after all this time apart, he still knew Keith too well.

“It’s from Marmora,” Shiro continued. Keith tried to pretend he hadn’t heard him. “They said they’d take you back if you finished up school at NYU. I bet we could even negotiate for your scholarship back.”

“Drop it, Shiro,” Keith said. Each and every one of his nerves felt tight — strung up and twisted and about ready to snap.

“Keith,” Shiro implored. “Just _think_  about it—”

“No,” Keith said, cutting him off. “If you leave it alone, we can go out for dinner. Otherwise you can just go.”

Shiro grimaced. “I would love to have dinner with you,” he said. “But I promised Adam I’d attend his presentation tonight. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine, Shiro,” Keith said, pushing and shoving and kicking the bruised feelings inside himself into a box and locking it tight. This distance was his fault. He couldn’t forget that.

“Can we reschedule? For soon?” Shiro said, his eyes hopeful.

“’Course,” Keith grunted. “I’m gonna take a shower now. Lock the door on your way out.”

“Sure thing.”

When Keith got out of the shower, he found the letter waiting for him on his living room table. He couldn’t quite bring himself to rip it up.


	2. i'm just haunted by you constantly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Couldn’t stay away, huh?” 
> 
> Keith’s fingers were dangling over the guitar case. It took him a good few seconds to realize the words had been spoken to him, and his head whipped up so he could take in the man in front of him, his guitar now hanging from his neck by the strap, one hand resting on the body of it. Keith dropped his dollar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from everything is easy by third eye blind!!
> 
> (can you tell i'm excited about this story? yes, another chapter already asldkjf)

“Can you make copies of this on your way out?”

Keith glanced up from his computer, attempting to light the stack of papers held before him on fire with his eyes alone.

“Sure,” he said, and the papers were dropped onto his desk. Keith resisted the urge to bang his head on it as well.

He pulled on his jacket as he stood up, tucking his chair under the desk and grabbing the papers before stepping out of his wretched cubicle. Most of his neighboring coworkers had pictures and decorations spicing up their miniature offices, but Keith had never bothered. He’d never intended to stay for long.

He dropped the papers off in the copy room on his way out, nodding at the receptionist before finally escaping into the afternoon sun. People were bustling all over the streets — the late lunch/early dinner rush — and Keith joined them. Coming to New York from Texas had been a culture shock, the pace of life so much faster here, but over time he’d come to find he didn’t really mind it. At least, he rarely got stuck behind slow-walkers these days.

Keith followed the same path he always did, turning corner after corner until he was approaching the subway station. But then his steps slowed. And he stood there.

Someone muttered something angrily behind him, but after that the New York crowd parted around him seamlessly. Before Keith could give it any more thought, he turned away from the subway station, traveling along newly familiar streets towards the same street corner from the day before.

He didn’t know why he was doing it. His normal subway entrance was working perfectly fine, and this next one really was out of his way. The only logical answer would be that he was hoping to see that same street performer, but that was just ridiculous. He wasn’t _that_  good.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself the entire walk to that same corner. And despite it all, he felt his heart sink when he found the corner empty. It made sense that it was empty. No one could perform on a street every hour of every day, right?

Keith held in a sigh and continued on his way, trying to stop feeling so ridiculously disappointed. Almost against his will, his mind started doing calculations. Did that performer have a schedule, or did he just set up randomly? Did he set up in the same place every day? Or perhaps certain days of the week? If he set up in the same place on the same days, when would that mean he would be here next?

 _It doesn’t matter,_  said a voice in his mind.

 _4:00 on Tuesdays,_  said another. And fuck. That information might as well have been cemented in there now.

But Keith ignored it. He ignored it and tried to forget about it. He went to work and went to the gym and walked his dog. He made home cooked meals and picked up his elderly neighbor’s mail and got coffee from that shop on the corner of his street. He lived his life and tried to forget and cursed himself cross as he walked right past the subway station come next Tuesday.

On the bright side, if the street performer wasn’t here today, then Keith could just forget about him entirely. It would mean he didn’t have a schedule, that him performing on that corner had been a fluke, and Keith could feel comfortable giving up. Pushing him far from his mind.

With every step on the cracked and dirty, gum-laden pavement beneath him, Keith tried to squash his hopes. He still couldn’t quite understand what the appeal was about this performer. It wasn’t like he didn’t see them all the time, loitering all over the city to sing and dance and use things that weren’t instruments as instruments. Sometimes Keith stopped and dropped a few coins, but he never went back. He never _looked_  for them.

Keith couldn’t ignore that he was looking this time, though. Except he heard him before he saw him.

 _“And then you speak to me, and everything gets easy…”_ Oh no. Keith’s heart and feet sped up as he walked down the street, weaving between strangers and muttering variations of “excuse me” and “sorry.”

 _“Like I get what I wanted, now I’m just haunted by you constantly...”_ Keith came to a breathless stop before him, watching adamantly as the performer’s head bobbed as he sang, his fingers finding the correct chords and playing with ease. His voice was perfect — lilting and smooth and just the right amount of flawed that it added that much more character to the song. To him.

When the guy opened his eyes — once again closed in what looked like music playing bliss — they landed on Keith and he grinned so wide that Keith couldn’t mistake the expression for anything other than recognition.

People slowed down as they passed, and a few even stopped for a little bit, others tossing in money, but not many really stuck around. Too used to seeing street performers all over the place, Keith guessed. But he was entranced. Amazed. He couldn’t tear his eyes or ears away until the performer was strumming the last chord, calling out a, “Thank you!” to the people that remained standing around him, clapping politely.

Keith didn’t realize he’d stayed for the entirety of the song until it’d ended and the crowd was dispersing around him. He hastily reached into his pocket for a tip so he could be on his way.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

Keith’s fingers were dangling over the guitar case. It took him a good few seconds to realize the words had been spoken to him, and his head whipped up so he could take in the man in front of him, his guitar now hanging from his neck by the strap, one hand resting on the body of it. Keith dropped his dollar.

Oh God, did he seriously recognize him? It probably wasn’t every day that someone gaped at you like a fish, looked at you like you’d hung the moon. This was humiliating. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Keith lied.

The man scoffed. “You stopped by last week, dude,” he said. He absently plucked a few strings of the guitar, its melody twanging out between them.

“Don’t think that was me,” Keith said, his words biting. What the fuck was he doing? He was so bad at this. _This_  was why Keith didn’t talk to people.

The performer squinted at him. He clearly didn’t believe Keith, and he seemed to be gearing up to some sort of confrontation because of this. Finally, he leaned forward, jabbing a finger mere inches from Keith’s face. “I know it was you, because I don’t forget a pretty face when I see one.”

And Keith? He _flushed_. He felt heat rush to the surface of his skin as he gaped at the man before him. The cocky, teasing, _infuriating_  man. He was totally making fun of him! He must’ve seen him checking him out or something, and now he was trying to humiliate him!

“Lance, by the way.”

“What?” Keith said, his voice still heated with anger that he didn’t know quite what to do with. The guy lifted up a hand, jabbing a thumb into his chest. He looked amused.

“I’m Lance.”

“Okay,” Keith said.

“And your name?”

Keith didn’t know why he answered. He shouldn’t have answered. “Keith,” he answered.

“Well, _Keith_ ,” Lance said, his fingers still playing with the guitar strings, in a more distinct pattern now. Was he trying to play a song? Keith couldn’t stop staring at his hands — long, nimble fingers, the nails filed to perfection. “I’ll see ya next Tuesday.”

Keith’s eyes widened. Had he realized that Keith had figured out his schedule? Or at least this small sliver of it?

“No, you won’t,” Keith said quickly, but Lance was still grinning that cocky grin. He looked amused, and Keith wanted to erase that expression from existence. He decided right then and there that he hated this guy. Lance might’ve been unfairly attractive with a godly voice, but he was also a _dick_ , and Keith hated him. And still kind of admired him. From afar. In secret.

“Sure,” Lance said, sounding completely disbelieving, and then he _winked_. Keith spun around and shoved into the passing crowd before Lance could see him blushing.

For the entire train ride back to his apartment, Keith wallowed in his embarrassment. And anger. He figured there was at least one good thing to come out of all this, though. Now that he knew what an asshole Lance could be, he wouldn’t be on the edge of his seat, just waiting until he could see him again. Now he could go back to his regularly scheduled life, back to not having to walk an extra three blocks just to get on the subway. Really, this was all a good thing.

—

Keith was embarrassed. Not because he had any real reason to be, or because anyone was actually there to witness it, but it was the _principle_  of the matter.

Still, he made no attempts to put an end to what he was doing as he opened up his laptop and typed “lance nyc street performer” into the search bar. Keith had a problem, okay?

Expectedly, the search didn’t turn up much. Or, well, it _did_ , but none of what popped up was what he was looking for. Which probably should’ve been a sign. He should’ve taken it as it was and given up on his ridiculous endeavor. The fact that he was even trying to find more of Lance was embarrassing enough as it was.

Except he didn’t give up. He kept trying different variations of his search, and scrolling through Twitter accounts that popped up, and venturing miles down the google image search results for anyone that vaguely resembled Lance.

In the end, he found him through an account that wasn’t even his own. Even more strange? Keith _knew_  this person.

Pidge.

Technically, her name was Katie Holt, though Keith had never known her as that in all his time of being her friend. Nobody had. He hadn’t talked to her since getting kicked off Marmora and subsequently dropping out of NYU, and for good reason, in his opinion. Or… previous opinion.

He didn’t really hold a grudge against her these days. Especially when she’d never intended to mess up his chances on the team. Nor had she actually known that he’d had a secret, too. Not to mention it was really hard to hate someone when they’d sent you a surplus of apologies over text, and even attempted to meet up in person.

Keith had told her that it was fine and that they could both forget about it, but that he would need some time. And then “some time” turned into three years, and Keith hadn’t talked to her since.

He was still following her on Twitter though.

He never actually used his account, in his defense. He’d created it because of Shiro bugging him, further pointing out that he actually had a bit of a fan base thanks to his position on Marmora’s dance team — a team that he had fought hard and long and practiced _all his life_  to be on — and that they’d likely want a way to contact and connect with him. _“All the more reason not to,”_  Keith had said, but it was really hard not to let Shiro get his way when he was persistent about something.

Ignoring his surprise at his endless googling having led him to Pidge’s Twitter page, he logged on and clicked on the tweet he’d been led to.

 **pidge** | _@offwithurhead_  
check it out!!! this is my friend lance on 31st street – he performs there every tuesday and ROCKS. i’m only saying this here bc i know he’ll never see it :) that idiot still doesn’t have twitter

Under the words was a video, which Keith clicked on without hesitation. Lance was singing a song in Spanish and he actually had a decent sized crowd around him. Towards the middle of the song, as it picked up and he strummed his guitar faster, he jumped onto an overturned bucket and tilted his head back, singing the lyrics loudly to the sky. His crowd was clapping along with him, and Lance held his guitar over his head as he finished, laughing as everyone else cheered.

Keith came to the realization that he was grinning along with him.

He quickly exited out of full screen, not really remembering when he’d done that in the first place, and looked at the tweet again. It was only two weeks old. It wasn’t _that_  weird to interact with a tweet posted two weeks ago, right?

Finding that he really couldn’t bring himself to care anymore, Keith clicked the heart button. Just in case he wanted to find it again in the future.

Finally, Keith shoved his laptop aside and tried to forget about it all. Tried to forget about Lance and his expert playing and the way his singing voice seemed to skip straight past Keith’s ears and into his heart. The way his eyes had gleamed as he’d jabbed his finger at Keith, saying _I don’t forget a pretty face when I see one._  He tried to forget about Pidge and the mixed feelings he had about her — one of the first and best friends he’d ever made, and also the reason he’d been kicked off the team he’d been working his whole life to be on. He tried to forget about Marmora, and dancing.

Tried to forget about how he hadn’t danced since.


	3. maybe i don't know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from maybe idk by jon bellion!!
> 
> hope you enjoy the chapter guys! also, if you're not already, check out my fic "and i will find you"!! i'm updating it every day in february, and each chapter is prompted by the klance au month prompts! keith is stuck traveling through different universes where he's dating lance until he can get back home, to his reality where he's Not dating lance ;)

**[17:23] shiro**  
Have you thought about it?

Keith pressed the power button and tucked his phone back into his pocket. It wasn’t the first text along those lines that he’d gotten since that day Shiro had shown up at his apartment, and it wasn’t his first time purposefully ignoring it, either. Kosmo pulled on his leash and Keith let him lead them through the crowd on the sidewalk, figuring he probably had a better idea of where they should take their walk than he did anyway.

Or maybe Kosmo was just a traitorous bastard.

Keith didn’t hear the music until it was already too late. Maybe this was because he hadn’t been actively listening for it this time, but all at once it washed over him, and he almost stumbled to a stop in his surprise. Kosmo didn’t, though. He plowed forward, weaving through people in the expertly careless way only a dog could, and then Keith was upon him.

Lance.

Except this was nowhere near his Tuesday corner. Keith knew this because he’d been avoiding it — ever since his disastrous conversation with Lance followed by Keith’s embarrassing stalking of him on social media.

“ _I wonder why I feel emptiness when I sing these blues_ …” 

Keith contemplated just continuing to walk — continuing on his way and avoiding whatever confrontation would surely come from this — but even as he thought this his feet slowed to a stop. Kosmo stopped with him, which was surprising, because usually Kosmo was hauling him all over the place. It wasn’t long before Lance caught sight of him.

“ _I wonder why I feel hopelessness when I watch the news_ …”

His eyes lit up, his lips curling up into a smirk. Keith just raised his eyebrows at him.

“ _I wonder why I can’t find my voice in my dreams_ …”

Keith stayed for the rest of the song. Because he was gay, and hopeless, and he really did love Lance’s singing. 

So he waited. Lance thanked the small audience that had gathered during his performance, and once everyone had dispersed, he approached Keith.

“I should probably just print off my schedule for you, huh?” Lance said, but even though he was talking to Keith, he was facing Kosmo. Like, he’d dropped to his knees and was holding Kosmo’s face back as he bombarded Lance with kisses.

“That won’t be necessary,” Keith said coldly. Lance ignored him.

“Who’s _this_?” he said instead. 

“His name’s Kosmo. With a K. Like mine,” Keith said, which was definitely too much information. No need for Lance to know he was that lame.

“Kosmo?” Lance said, his voice immediately having taken on that baby-talk voice that everyone fell prey to when it came to talking to animals. “Aren’t you a good boy! Huh? Did you help your daddy find ol’ Lancey Lance?” He got back to his feet, sending a cocky grin Keith’s way. Keith scoffed.

“You’re so full of yourself,” he said.

“And you’re drooling.”

Keith was red. He almost lifted a hand to wipe at his mouth before thinking better of it. He’d never been… teased like this before. He didn’t know whether he was supposed to feel more flustered or angry after all of this.

“Goodbye, Lance,” he finally said, managing to keep the tone of his voice flat.

“Hurry back,” Lance practically sang as Keith turned around. “I sing better when I’m looking at something pretty!”

\--

The thing was, despite his efforts not to, Keith was accidentally memorizing Lance’s schedule. Tuesdays he was on 31st street. Fridays he was on that street corner near the park. On Mondays he performed in the subway station a stop before Keith’s, which he’d found out when he accidentally got off early, having been distracted on his phone.

And soon, he would discover where Lance was on Thursdays.

It’d been a crappy day at work. His boss had yelled at him for a reason Keith still couldn’t quite understand. He’d just watched as his face had grown more and more red, spittle flying from his mouth, and thought, _I hate this fucking job_.

On top of that, Shiro still hadn’t stopped bothering Keith. They hadn’t texted this often since Keith was actually in college, but now it seemed like they were talking every day. Shiro liked to pretend that he was really smooth about it all, hiding his prying questions amongst everyday chit-chat, but Keith saw right through him.

So he figured he deserved a break. A chance to really wind down and let loose after a stupidly stressful day. That was why he could be found at Lady A’s Tap and Bar, waving down the bartender to start off with a shot and a beer.

“Thanks,” he said, when Lady A herself set the drinks down before him. She shot him a smile and he raised his glass to her before throwing it back. He just needed to get his mind off things. Needed a distraction.

That distraction came in the form of someone tall and handsome. Keith leaned against the bar-top and tried to look as open to his advances as possible. He swirled his drink around so that the ice cubes within clattered loudly.

“But enough about me,” the near-stranger laughed. He’d introduced himself at the beginning of the conversation, but Keith hadn’t heard him too well. His name was like, Joe, or something. Maybe John. “What about you? How was your day?”

“Shitty,” Keith said plainly. “I just want to forget about it.” He raised his eyebrows as he said this, and the man before him smirked. 

“Think I could help take your mind off things,” he said, and nodded his head toward the back of the bar. Keith knew there were bathrooms back there — had had a few quickies in their vicinity before — and he wasn’t exactly opposed to doing so now.

Keith grabbed the man’s wrist and pulled him towards the back of the bar, giving him no time to dawdle. Keith wasn’t really one for relationships, but he couldn’t deny that being in a relationship made… _this_ … a whole lot easier. Instead, he ended up pressed against the wall, the man’s lips hot on his neck as Keith debated how far to let this go, how much to tell him, and when.

It was probably a little too late for _when_ , honestly. Keith knew that much. Sometimes he didn’t even manage to get any sort of explanation out of his mouth. It was exhausting, for one thing, feeling like he had to give a warning anytime he wanted this. And — quite honestly — sometimes he just _forgot_. There’d be alcohol flowing through his veins and some hot guy grinding against his hip and Keith could blessedly forget that some people wouldn’t want to fuck him simply because he was trans.

“Fuck,” Keith gasped, his eyes fluttering shut as the man’s mouth traveled from behind his ear to underneath his jaw. He had a hand fisted in the back of his hair, keeping him close, and Keith’s eyes were only opened in slits as he let this man work his magic.

And then his eyes were open _wide_ when someone passing by suddenly stopped to look at him. White teeth, cocky grin, guitar in hand…

Keith’s mouth fell open — half because _Lance_ was standing before him and half because this vampire attached to his neck could do magic with his mouth. Lance, standing over the stranger’s shoulder, smirked at him. His head flopped to the side a bit as he observed Keith, teasing him with his gaze as Keith shuddered under the stranger’s touch, the smallest of moans slipping out of him.

 _Have fun,_ Lance mouthed, giving him a thumbs up, and Keith just gaped as he watched him go.

And then he couldn’t stop thinking about him. The man’s mouth on him was suddenly Lance’s mouth, his hands suddenly Lance’s hands, but then Keith heard _music_ — because obviously Lance was here to perform — and he ended up pushing the guy away.

“Wha— are you okay?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing together, and Keith nodded distractedly.

“Yeah, I just remembered I have to… do something,” he said, and then he was turning and hurrying out of the tiny back hallway and into the main room of the bar. It was probably thanks to the alcohol in his system that he didn’t even argue with himself before finding a seat and settling in to watch, Lance standing up on a stage where he belonged.

He sounded as great as he always did. The stage lights gleamed off the surface of his guitar as he sang, his voice wrapping around Keith like a blanket, and — _fuck, I am so gay._

Lance had a whole set. Keith had never listened to him for longer than a song before, but this time he did. He sat and drank beer and listened and Lance’s eyes continually strayed towards him, twinkling every time they did. Keith hoped he couldn’t see his flush from up there.

By the time he was done playing, he thanked the crowd — which cheered and applauded — before jumping off the stage and retreating down the hallway that he’d originally caught Keith in, probably to store his guitar in a back room or something. Keith gained a sudden, intense interest in his glass. At the condensation dripping down it and gathering as a ring on the table. Nothing could possibly be more interesting than this glass, which was why Keith didn’t look around, didn’t anticipate Lance’s return, didn’t try to figure out if he was even going to come back.

He jolted when someone plopped into the seat beside him. “Hey man,” said Lance. 

“I swear I’m not stalking you,” Keith said, bolstered by the alcohol, which made Lance laugh.

“You sure? ‘Cause you’ve found almost all of my spots now, even without my schedule,” he teased. “Next thing I know you’ll be at my front door, demanding an encore.”

Keith reached out and shoved his shoulder, which definitely felt too familiar, but Lance was still grinning, so Keith didn’t think he’d overstepped.

“So, how’d you like the show?”

And Keith felt warm from the inside out because of the buzz in his veins, and right then and there he decided that it was exhausting trying to hate Lance — gorgeous, wonderful, soft-as-honey-voiced Lance — even though he was always teasing Keith. So, “you were amazing,” Keith said truthfully, watching as Lance’s eyes widened. 

“ _Wow_ , who would’ve thought you were a lightweight?” he joked, but all the teasing seemed to have slipped out of his voice.

“Stop,” Keith said. “I’m not, I swear. You’re just too sober right now.”

So Lance waved down a server and ordered a beer, which he then raised towards Keith when it arrived.

After taking a sip, Lance said, “You know, I kind of thought you were straight.” It was the first time either of them had acknowledge the fact that Lance had come across Keith pressed up against a wall.

“Really?” Keith said.

“I mean, you kind of glared at me a lot when I called you pretty,” Lance pointed out. “You’re doing it again!”

“I’m not!” Keith protested. “I’m just… flustered,” he said finally, shrugging. He never would’ve admitted that sober.

“Well you didn’t seem very flustered with that guy,” Lance said, and then, as if to prove his point, he reached out. His finger pressed against what must’ve been a bruise on Keith’s neck, making Keith aware of the ache. When Lance retracted his hand, Keith tilted his head back down, feeling about a thousand degrees warmer.

“I wasn’t,” Keith said.

Lance’s eyebrows bounced on his head. Twice. Three times. _Suggestive_. “How was it?” he asked.

Keith buried his face in his hands. “It wasn’t,” he admitted.

“What? Why not!” Lance demanded, kicking out at Keith. And he kept playing with Keith’s feet as he responded.

“Just… got distracted,” Keith said, and he realized it was true. He’d come here looking for a distraction, and he’d really, really gotten one.

God, Lance was going to be the death of him.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you guys liked the chapter!! ALSO!! if you can think of any songs that you think lance would sing with his guitar, please comment them!!! i might use them later in the fic and/or add them to the spotify playlist! <3
> 
> be sure to check out my tumblr (@jilliancares) and twitter (@jacecares)!!! i'd love to talk to you about the fic or klance or whatever!


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